


Because reality doesn't tell happy ends

by thestralblut



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Depression, Eating Disorders, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mental Disorder, Self-Harm, Slash, but only if you want to see it like that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 23:54:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17877182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestralblut/pseuds/thestralblut
Summary: Severus Snape.Death eater.Traitor.Murderer.Nobody ever looked after his mask except this one person. This one person who looked into him. This one person he has to live with having murdered.He hated many people in his live, he was no easy man. The person he hated most was himself.





	Because reality doesn't tell happy ends

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: I'm not a native speaker therefore there could be faults in language, I hope you understand my story anyways. This story contains some topics that could easily trigger so please don't read this if you've got problems with the mentioned warnings in the tags. The relationship is only implied, therefore it can also easily read as friendship or other. I just want to clarify that my story was inspired by a fanart which includes a loving relationship but you can interpret it yourself.  
> https://www.deviantart.com/lifeofapottedplant/art/And-done-682085171

He stood in front of the mirror. His skin was pale against his black hair, it fell greasy on his shoulders because of the potions he had brewed. His job was to brew them, there was no point in caring.

He had a tall physique which made him even thinner in the mirror, under all his robes the bones didn‘t show like that. His job was only surviving, there was no point in caring about his weight.

The rings under his dark, pungent eyes had grown more prominent over the last months. His job was to be always ready, there was no point in caring about getting enough sleep.

His gaze drifted onto the white to red scars. Some were on his skin since he was able to go by himself, the others where just a few days old and they‘d have soon disappeared because of healing ointment. Narrow, spider-like fingers stroked across a scar stretching from his back over the succinct collarbone to his right breast. He had been eleven and Tobias Snape had just found out, what his son was, when he had thrashed him with his leather belt. A birthday present the man in the mirror was not fond of at all and a bitter trait lay on his small lips. As the boy had grown older his father‘s methods of punishment had gotten more cruel and in the end the bastard of a father had tried to fuck the magic out of him. A slight shade of blush showed the shame in the face of the man in the mirror.

The fingers glided to a series of tears on his left rib arches. The Dark Lord himself had conjured these after he hadn‘t been able to brew him a potion that the other man had wanted when he had just become a deatheater. It wasn‘t like he was not _truly_ able to do what he had been told but his morale hadn‘t allowed it back then. After the Dark Lord had tortured him for an eternity he had sworn to never let himself be humiliated like that. He had done what he was told, he had tried to forget what happened with his potions. In the end the guilt would eat him up. But the scars remained as a warning to never fail his master ever again.

At last his fingers ran over his left collarbone, down his arm and came to a stop on his arm fully covered in scarred cuts. Nauseated he looked at them, these he had done to himself. Because he was weak, because he had not be able to keep his pain on the inside. Some of the cuts were rather fresh, encrusted scratches. For a moment the black gaze went to the side, not able to look at his weak, disgusting figure. Anger rose up on his inside. All the pain he had gone through, all the scars on his body, he deserved them. He deserved to look like this, he did not have the right to have a normal weight or enough sleep. All the people who had died because of him haunted him and he deserved it. It was his fault they had suffered, that they had died.

Guilt mingled with the range that had rosen up. The thin, pale figure blurred in his gaze, instead of him he looked into light blue eyes. Softly they saw into him, not only in his eyes, really _into_ him. It was quite unnoticeable that the older man had a small smile on his lips, his expression was full of affection only visible to the black eyes of himself.

„Severus, please.“, spoke a tender voice. He had his wand raised, swallowed a bitterness and lay as much apology in his gaze as possible to not be noticeable for anyone else. Then the older men fell, and he fell, it was not like it would end anymore. In his sleepless nights the dead body just kept falling.

He was back in his bathroom, he looked again into his own dark, guilty eyes. He hated this person in the mirror so much, he wanted him to be gone, he wanted him to pay for what he had done, he wanted him to suffer. He raised his fist in anger and threw it straight onto the cold surface of his mirror image. The sound of shattering glass rang in his ears, he pounded against it over and over again, blood dripped into the sink. He didn't know what made him stop, his right hand was covered in glass shards and crimson cuts. Numbness fell over him and he stepped aback, he had only gone in here to take a shower. He would clean this mess when his mind was clearer again. Thus he stepped into the shower and made the water hotter than it had been necessary.

Blood splattered out of the wound on his neck, his body lay on the wooden floor and every inch of it felt unbelievably cold. He knew it was because of the loss of blood, at least he guessed it was. His mind felt rather dizzy. Also a slight peaceful thought filled him, he would finally die. He had wished for it so many times and today it was over. He wasn‘t afraid anymore, he knew whatever would come he deserved it. He hadn‘t believed in a hell like he had learned as a child about, but if there was something like that he would be there and it filled him with peace. There was nothing he deserved more than hell.

„Severus, that is not true.“, a tender voice spoke. He hadn‘t noticed that he had closed his eyes and when he opened them what he saw was not the Shrieking Shack. Light blue eyes looked softly into him.

„I‘ve waited for you.“, he said affectionately.

„It‘s over. I promise, you are fine at last.“ He couldn‘t trust his eyes nor his ears and when he did not know what to say too, tears collected in his eyes.

„Albus, I-“, with a move with his hand the older man meant him to be quiet. Slowly he pulled him into a soft hug and he had never felt more at home than in those arms.

„No more guilt nor apologies. It is over and our happy endings may not occur like we expect them to be but here we are.“, the older man pushed him a little aback to look into his eyes, while he put his warm hands on the pale cheeks.

„I‘ve missed you.“


End file.
